Why Not
by P. Franz
Summary: Sequel to "Why". We'll see how well Carly can hold up after the great tragedy that has taken a hold of her life.
1. Chapter 1

**Sequel to "Why". I own nothing but my thoughts and feelings.**

I'm still living. Still breathing. But existing in my own little world now. I'm on anti depressants, anti anxiety medication, and an anti psychotic.

"Zoloft, Xanax, and Lithium." I blurt out to the cold air breezing through my hair as I drive slowly and cautiously down the main road beside my apartment complex.

It's nice outside, and I don't know why I didn't just walk. I got out of bed for the first time in weeks today, took my medicine, got in the shower. I made an effort to put on makeup and semi dress up, so that when I get in the car and look in the mirror I won't be disappointed with myself any more than usual. The cemetery was just down the street from my apartment, only a block and a half from Sam's. Well, where Sam _used_ to live. I figured dressing up and going to see her was about the best I could do for myself and for her right now.

So I guess I really wasn't living anymore.

I was just existing.

Before too long I found myself abusing my anti anxiety medication just to get high. My psychiatrist would never find out and neither would Spencer, so I didn't care. Naturally, I didn't care because I was high. I was high a lot, though. And the high doses of the anti psychotic they had me on kept me in a catatonic-like state most of the time.

"Heh…Lithium."

I let another sentence drabble about my lips, speaking only to the car stereo that my phone is currently plugged into.

"This song is good."

_Saxon_ by Chase and Status is playing right now.

My hand finds it way to the phone to find a song to play next. I look at and feel the many cuts and scars on my arm, every one a constant reminder that she's gone and I'm alone. _Alone_. It even says so on my right arm. I pop another three of my Xanax to erase the memories and chase it with flat, watered down Peppy Cola that's been in my car since I left this morning. Settling down in my car seat, safely in the parking garage of my apartment complex; this is what I do now. I get high and forget.

**This is short, an intro of sorts, just to let you guys see how Carly's holding up. Here's hoping I'll throw out another chapter or two while bored at my new job!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I know this chapter isn't very long either. They'll get better, I promise. I haven't had time to write much lately, so this whole thing was written in the span of a couple hours. Hope it's not too bad. lol This chapter is heavy, btw. So beware. Please review if you like it. :) Thanks guys!**

I watched her go from a happy-go-lucky high-schooler to a depressed, drug abusing, apathetic shell of a human being. This wasn't the Carly I knew. It wasn't a Carly I had ever known until here lately. And I was the one that created this partially existing creature that now walked lazily through the halls of Ridgeway. Although, I never saw her at school anymore; I wondered how her grades were. Did they look as bad as she did? I hated thinking that of her, but it was true. She was letting herself go on my account. I stayed right here, enclosed in a 100 foot radius of my head stone, and watched her come once a week, always on a Sunday, to visit me. Today she was dressed in the exact same dark, sob ridden clothes that she had worn to my funeral just a month ago. I watched her pull up in the old Jeep that my mother had so graciously given her after my death. She sauntered lazily over to me and sat down next to the grave stone that I was currently leaning up against.

The idea that I was helpless tormented me. I realized that there was nothing I could do to save her. I couldn't even save myself when I needed it most.

"I had a doctor's appointment Friday," she tells me, voice so full of apprehension and fear, "They gave me a new drug."

She continues then pauses.

"Lithium." The word rolls so fluidly off her tongue like she's said it fifty million times in the past few days.

"I'm sure you've heard of it."

And I have. I know well what it does.

Her fingers entwine with random blades of grass and I imagine that those blades are my fingers instead. She doesn't budge at my invisible touch, nor does she shed a tear when she looks at the pile of dirt that my body is buried beneath, or the head stone with my name and "In loving memory of…" on it. She just stares blankly at them with no feeling whatsoever. She's high, she's numb right now. She's forgetting on purpose because it makes her feel better. But it's making me feel worse.

"I'm not sure about how it makes me feel yet, Sam." she blurts out into the cool air. "You know, all tingly and stuff."

"_Then don't take them."_ I tell her, the borderline of life and death stealing my words from her ears.

"But I think I'm getting used to it."

I sigh and walk over to her, squatting down to wrap my arms around her. I'm not afraid to touch her anymore. I know she knows I'm here; I don't risk scaring her off anymore. But I'm not really here, am I? She doesn't respond to my touch anymore. This is what I wanted, right? To be forgotten.

"_You don't need drugs, Carls."_ My words fall on deaf ears as she stands up, pulling the grass with her in a fist. And I feel that pain. The insufferable pain of being ripped from what you know and love and being thrown into a cold, unfamiliar place where you're nothing but alone. That word resounds in my head, like an echo through a cavern. _Alone._

"_I love you, Cupcake."_

It's been so long since I actually got to say that and get a response. We're not in sync like we used to be anymore. She's numb and out of tune, and God knows I'd do anything to help her if given even the smallest of chances.

And then she does something that both surprises and scares me. She throws the fistful of my heart into the wind and turns to face me.

"Why did you do it, Sam?"

I was completely floored by her question. I had forgotten that no one knew why, not even my mother. I could see the tears welling up in her eyes; a small shine of emotion that I hadn't seen in weeks.

"Wasn't I good enough to stick around for?"

My heart shattered into a million little pieces as she finished her question and looked down at the ground. She needed an explanation; I didn't blame her at all.

"_Babe, you were! I just wasn't thinking was all. You have no idea how much I wish I could take it back. I miss you so much…"_

I reached for her hand but she jerked it up to her face to hide the flowing tears.

"I loved you, Sam. You were my world."

"_And you, mine, Carly. You, mine."_

I dropped my hand and frowned hard. How in the hell could I have done this? I hated myself so much for being as selfish as I had been. We were so happy together, so functional as a couple. A shoe-in for Prom King and Queen. We were so in love…

And now both of our worlds were shattered thanks to me. She turned and walked back to the Jeep. I followed her as far as I could, but was forced back before I reached the vehicle. Just one more week and I could see her again…

Could there be life after death? What was I living was no life. I didn't eat, I didn't sleep, didn't do anything but sit here and wait for Carly to come back. My "life" was lived week to week, day to day. There is no future here.

I've thought about her so much these past few weeks. Touching her, holding her, kissing her. I've exhausted every thought possible and now I'm just miserable.

I'm not living; but existing just the same.


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, so I'm just gonna come out and say it. These chapters are suckish. I'm really just feeding my emotions until I can come up with a pivotal plot point to stick in this story. :P Please review~!**

"Sam, this is awesome! You gotta try it!"

I danced around my room to the Dubstep channel on Pandora Radio. It was a slow, wonky beat with random noises thrown around here and there. "Bass head" is being repeated over and over to the beat of the song with an entrancing melody in between. I'm completely trapped in this song right now. My mind is skipping from one thing to another, my eyes are frame skipping, and I can't seem to remember what I said five seconds ago, but I'm enjoying every minute of it. And Sam always just sits and watches. She never takes pills with me, never smoked with me; just sits on my bed and watches, not saying a word. It's almost like she enjoys watching me make a fool of myself, but never actually makes fun of me. She laughs when I laugh and frowns when I frown, but otherwise is silent.

The song ends and changes to one I know well: Afterlife by Lung. I sit down and have a one-sided conversation with her about how she's usually the bad one and I'm the angel and how now it's switched around. I ask her why she doesn't come around much anymore. It seems to be only when I'm fucked up, otherwise I never see her. I interrogate her on her whereabouts; even though she says nothing, I know that she's been where she always is: in that damn graveyard. I go with her every Sunday. We hang out and talk by her grave. I wish so badly that I could reach out and touch her and hold her and kiss her. There isn't a day that does by that I don't wish that. I can talk to this fucked up illusion of her all day, but she'll never really be able to hear me.

My high is going away, so I smoke another bowl and lay down on my bed beside her, bending her to my will and making her hold me. After all, she's only a figment of my imagination. She's fading fast, I can feel it. I'm falling asleep, though, and it's so comforting to think she's here with me.

This is how I go to sleep every night, with invisible Sam right beside me.

* * *

I wake up the next morning and I'm sober, so very sober. Sam is gone, as usual, and I'm alone: the last thing I need to be right now. Spencer is downstairs making bacon. I can smell it with my uncanny sense of smell. The sweet, woody aroma reminds me of her and I fall back into the hollowed out head shape in my down pillow with a plop and let out an exasperated sigh. This was too hard. Every little smell, everything I looked at, everything that I said did nothing but remind me of Sam. I was seriously being tormented. My life had been one big game for the past 3 weeks, and it hadn't been very much fun for me. I felt as though I was a pawn in God's great game of chess. Struggling not to get taken, struggling not to be forced into a situation that I couldn't get out of. I was being manipulated and pushed around for someone else's amusement. It just wasn't fair.

_and the cracks begin to show_

And when they show, they _show_. I know everyone's noticed my recent change in attitude and emotion. If they don't like it, oh well. They should understand why I am this way now. My best friend of 9 years; my one, true love; Samantha Puckett is gone. I didn't just lose someone close to me, half of my own soul died with that girl. The cheery, peppy side of me that loved cute animals, and could be made to smile with something as simple as a smoothie was no longer here. She left with Sam, and I imagine the two hang out together sometimes. I imagine things are like they used to be wherever they are.

"Carly! Breakfast!" I hear Spencer cry from the kitchen and immediately my stomach knows it must pretend to be full, so as to minimize communication between Spencer and me. I'm not up for talking much anymore. Simply put, we _don't_. He doesn't tell me about his problems, and I don't tell him about mine. That whole "I'm here for you" bullshit is just that: bullshit. It's not like he didn't try, though. He tried a lot to get me to open up, but I was resistant. Very unwilling to let myself become vulnerable. I had this huge rush of negative emotion and I guess it just swept me away and took me to a different place, because where I am right now isn't home to me. You know that saying, "Home is where the heart is." Well, my heart is buried six feet under the ground now, and I'm in foreign territory.

My life has changed so drastically in the past month or so. I went from happy-go-lucky Carly to someone with who takes medication and has a drug problem. This is so not me. This is not who I am at all. My relationship with Spencer, and with my dad, is destroyed and I don't think it can ever be repaired. Nothing can anymore.

Yes, suicide has crossed my mind. I even followed its footsteps to the outer regions of my head.

"Why not?" I thought. "What could it hurt?"

But I'm always too afraid to do it. Too afraid to take that leap into the unknown. Fear of the unknown frightens me to no end. That's why I'm scared shitless right now without Sam. I don't know what's going to happen to me without her.

I pull my hair back in a ponytail and head downstairs to eat what little I can before heading out the door to go sit in my car. I swallow my medication, a bit more than needed, relax, and wait for it to take effect.

Everything in the Jeep is just the way she left it. A jacket and some of her pants are strewn about the back seat, there's a single cigarette butt in the ash tray, and her hairbrush is in the passenger side floorboard. It smells like her in here; that sweet, aromatic scent that always associated itself with happiness and true love is filling up my nostrils and giving me a headache. I felt ashamed of my body's reaction to the smell. I contemplated going back in for some painkillers, but I knew my headache would be gone soon enough.

It's 15 minutes later and I find myself drifting in and out of consciousness in the driver's seat, leaned back and looking at the sky. I was lucky enough to have a spot at the top of the parking garage to come and just sit and be high. No one bothered me up here.

And here's Sam. Right on time. She's in the passenger side seat, leaned back and watching me float high above my body. She knows what's going on yet she says nothing. I wish she would talk to me. Anything at all that graced her lips would be magical to me. To hear her voice again would be Heaven.


	4. Chapter 4

**Most of this chapter is in retrospect, just so you guys know. Those parts are in italics.**

My days get longer as yours get shorter, a luminous example of how fucked up life is for the two of us. I cower here in the shadow of my head stone, anxiously awaiting your arrival, picking and choosing which memory of us I want to relive today. This is what my days are compiled of.

_Atop Bushwell Plaza, looking over Main St., the day had long sense turned to night and the city was just waking up to the many club goers anxious to get drunk and party. I always felt like a million bucks up here, like I'm better than the rest of the world, like I've got_ it_ and everyone in it in the palm of my hand. Tonight was no exception._

_"Hey, Carls, I been thinkin'."_

_I look over at her, so beautiful and confident, thriving on everything that is well and good. Her dark brown hair dances softly in the wind as chocolate eyes scan my face for discrepancies. She raises an eyebrow to my statement and I continue._

_"We should date, you know." I laugh gingerly, hoping to disguise the emotion thick in my voice._

_"Date?" She asks, pretending not to catch my meaning, but I know she knows the answer; she'd just rather hear it from me. It was my idea, after all._

_"Yeah, you know, go out."_

_I shrug and play it off as if it's nothing big, ending my sentences with periods instead of question marks so there's no confusion about my intentions. She giggles, turning to me with gusto and letting the words roll off her tongue ever so gently, so sure that she's making the right decision._

_"We should."_

_She's smiling at me with her eyes, pursing her lips, doing that little thing with the corners of her mouth that invokes powerful feelings in my lower half._

_"Since you're in love with me and all."_

_I scoff jokingly._

_"I think it's _you_ that's in love with _me, Cupcake_."_

_She laughs and looks down, twiddling her thumbs._

_"Maybe a little."_

_I catch her gaze again and a full-fledged smile creeps back to her lips._

_"It's about time, Sam."_

_I cock an eyebrow. Her tone is playful but stern. She grabs my hand clumsily and links it with hers, indicating her blithe mood._

_"I was wondering how long I would have to flirt before you got the message."_

_And just like that, we became Carly and Sam. No longer two separate beings, but one entity instead. I lean over and give her a kiss on the cheek._

_"Guess I should pay more attention, huh?"_

And I probably should have payed more attention to her, in general. Not like I ever ignored her, but there was always room for improvement.

_"Die Dorkwad!"_

_"Sam!"_

_"What?"_

_I paused my game and looked up at her questioningly._

_"Why're you yelling for Freddie to die?"_

_"Well, see, I nicknamed all the aliens on my game after him. I figured if I pictured his dork face when I'm aiming, I'll get more headshots and an overall better hit average."_

_She stared at me blankly._

_"I see."_

_Making her way around the couch, she slowly grabbed the controller from my hands, gauging my reaction, and sat down in my lap. A light current followed her, forcing her scent upon me. Her essence always intoxicated me; that flowery, salty skin scent that filled my nostrils every time I was close to her and caused my emotions to go haywire. Who was I kidding? I was head over heels in love with the girl. My hands went to her waist and pulled her close._

_"Well, we're running late for the movie, so get up and get ready."_

_"Previews..."_

_"Sam."_

_"Alright, alright."_

_I pulled her in for a quick kiss and grinned._

_"But only if you promise to join me in the shower. Haha!"_

_Oh, I was such a pervert, and I embraced it. Laughing, she got up from my lap and twirled around in front of me._

_"How do I look?"_

_I smirked as I stood up, thinking anything but pure thoughts._

_"You look good, Carls."_

_A black and white sundress with black and white flowers printed on it wonderfully complemented milky white, satin skin that lay beneath it. Skin that I had lusted after since puberty, that was now all mine. She tasted like honey, strawberries, bananas, grapes, and pears depending on the day of the week. Monday through Wednesday was usually strawberry flavored body lotion, Thursday was pear because it was her favorite; Friday and Saturday were _always_ honey because it was _my_ favorite. Sunday was usually alternated with banana and grape, both of which mixed well with her body chemistry. I grabbed her hand and held her still against me while I sniffed the air around her neck._

_"Is that honey I smell?"_

_She giggled._

_"It _is_ Saturday night. No school tomorrow means we can stay up late tonight, Sam."_

_As she winked at me, I felt a warm tingle run down my spine and directly to the _one _place I didn't need it to be right now. She looped a finger through one of my side belt loops and jerked me towards her. I wrapped my arms around her as soon as our bodies met, not giving her a chance to get away._

_"Didn't know you 'made plans' tonight, Cupcake. You should have told me earlier, I would have been ready by now. The faster we leave, the faster we get home!"_

_"It was a spontaneous decision, really, and yes, but we still have to wait for Spencer to go to bed. Is sex the only thing you like better than video games? Do I have to come down here and do a striptease for you every time I want your attention?"_

_I thought about it for a second, pulling my thumb and finger up to my chin._

_"If I say yes, will you really do it?"_

_Carly looked at me and smirked, eyebrow raised. I copied her facial expression, holding it for a few seconds before leaning in and pressing my lips to hers. She moaned softly against my lips, unintentionally allowing her body to go partially limp in my arms. _

_"I love you way more than video games, kiddo. Way more than ham even. You know that."_

_Carly straightened up, grabbed my hand, and laced her fingers with mine._

_"I love you, too, Sam Puckett. Now, go get ready before I withhold certain things of value from you."_

_"Oh, yes ma'am."_

We were so in love, and we still are. That's what hurts so bad. We're on different planes of existence now and separation is the only option for us. Seeing her once a week isn't enough for me anymore. These memories aren't enough compared to her touch, compared to her scent, her voice, her personality. _Nothing_ compares to those in real life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Let's see. The songs used in this chapter were Apparat - You Don't Know Me, Gorillaz - Clint Eastwood, and Christina Perri - Jar of hearts. I know, the last one seems like it shouldn't be there, right? I just used it for the melody.**

**Plot point starting now. Lol Hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It's short like the rest of them, but getting a bit more in-depth. I have an idea for chapter 6, too, which is exciting. Enjoy!**

"_Sam! Sam! Stop running!"_

_I was out of breath as I attempted to follow her down the street aimlessly. She, however, knew exactly where she was going: to her house._

"_Sam! Damn it, stop!"_

_She stopped on a dime at the doorstep and turned towards me, motioning me forward, not saying a word. I was confused, among other things. Why was she so anxious to get here? And why wasn't she talking? This was unlike her. I ran lazily up to her and bent over, panting._

"_Sam…baby, what's going on?"_

_Still no verbal response from her, only a hand gesturing towards the door._

"_Where's your mother?"_

_Ignoring my own question, I grabbed the door handle and twisted it, opening the front door to Sam's house. It looked the same as always: slightly messy but very articulately placed. A full sized couch, a love seat, and an armchair complete with ottoman, all a cream color, surrounded a glass, oval-shaped, center table with gold legs and flowers on top. The walls were a deep gray mixed with light gray stone. Thrown about were clothes belonging to Sam; open, half-drank soda cans; and random bags of chips. Ms. Puckett was an amazing decorator, Sam just liked to help out in her own way. Sam followed me in and led me back through the kitchen and towards her bedroom. Was she playing games with me? Was this just some _sly_ way of being romantic and sweet? Sam _was_ unpredictable sometimes. I opened the door to her room and stepped inside. Expecting to find it exactly how she'd left it yesterday, I was surprised to see that it was completely empty. The walls had even been stripped of their vibrant color and were now a pale, depressing white. There was one picture hanging on the wall at the far end of the bedroom where a window was now boarded up and painted over. The picture was of Sam. So beautiful and angelic as a child. Thick, blonde curls bounding around the sleek line of her face, a grin from one ear to the other with misguided, pearly white baby teeth showing for all to see. If you weren't me or her mother, you couldn't tell Sam and her sister apart. Sam's eyes were a deeper blue, a more intense, fiery, passionate blue that I wanted to swim in. Maybe it was the love we had, maybe it was fate, or maybe it was genetics. Who cares, though, when you have the most beautiful blue eyes to stare into?_

_Wait, I wasn't focusing. Why was her room empty? Where was the bed, the chest of drawers, the mini fridge, the TV? Where did it all go?_

"_Sa-"_

_I spun around to catch her foot sliding out the door and into the hallway. I followed, calling out to her. She led me to her mother's study and handed me a folded up piece of paper. Curious, I opened it. It read: 7_591 this is all i could do.

_I looked up at her, confused._

"_Sam, what the hell does this mean? And why are we in your mother's study? Why aren't you talking t-_"

"CARLY!"

"Carly! Wake up! My room's on fire!"

I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. Spencer appeared in the doorway with a fire extinguisher ready for action. I glanced up at him over at the dresser where my stash was kept.

"Carly! Hello? We gotta get outta here!"

"I'm coming."

He ran off and I climbed out of bed, grabbing my backpack and filling it with many bottles of medicine, a baggy of weed, and my pipe. My car keys hung on a tack stuck in the wall; I grabbed them on my way out of the room as well as a full lungful of clean air.

Outside, everything was smoky. I could barely see a foot in front of me. I waved my hand in front of my face in an attempt to make my line of vision longer. Cautiously, I made my way down the stairs, around one of Spencer's sculptures, and to the door.

"Spencer!"

He stuck his head out of the smoky room and waved the black smog out of his face.

"Are you gonna be okay in there?"

"Yeah!"

He sat the extinguisher on the ground and wiped his ash-ridden face with the back of his sleeve.

"It's out now."

"Okay, so am I."

Another gust of smoke came from behind him and rushed me out the door.

I stepped out of the Jeep and onto the freshly watered grass of the graveyard. The tiny blades were soft against my bare feet and almost tickled as I found my way to Sam. This was the first time since the funeral that I had been here sober. The place was empty, save a groundskeeper in his golf cart about 200 feet to my left. We never bothered each other. He knows my story; he knows I lost the love I loved the most. Everyone knows that I come up here wasted out of my mind and talk to myself. They all probably think I'm crazy. I reached her headstone and sat Indian style on the ground.

"7591, huh? That's it?"

What does that even mean?

I played with the grass beside my legs, the wind blowing my hair, allowing me to take in the scent of the many bouquets of flowers spread out around the cemetery. There were none on Sam's headstone. I realized it was partially my fault. I was always too fucked up when I came around now. What a bad girlfriend I was. Well, it's not like I was anyone's girlfriend now.

"Oh, Sam."

I missed her so much. And in my morning clear-headedness, I realized that there was nothing I could do to stop the emotional roller coaster that I was securely strapped into for the next few months. She was gone. Really gone.

But why? Why? That's what I wanted to know.

And _this_ is why I took my medicine. When I got depressed about Sam and wanted to hurt myself and hit things and blame myself for everything. I knew that all that was waiting for me was regret and that I couldn't escape it. I made a deal with myself that I would only use the medicine until I figured this whole thing out. Once I got my closure, I wouldn't abuse it anymore, and I'd stop taking the anti-psychotic that made me a zombie. Although, I realized I had to use them to keep communication lines open with Sam, otherwise this would never work out. The residual image of her in my head had already started to fade, even when I _was_ high. I was forgetting.

"Sam, you gotta help me out here."

I stood up, running my hand along the edge of the big granite headstone in front of me.

"I can't do this by myself."

**Maybe some of you got the clue. If not, don****'t worry about it. It will become increasingly obvious next chapter. Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it! Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter muses: Apparat - You Don't Know Me and Lung - Afterlife.**

**Huge updated storyline in this chapter. It'll take a twist you, and I, didn't expect. But, it'll be fun, don't worry. Hope you enjoy!**

_The sun shone down around us in rays of brilliant light and heat, trees casting a monumental shadow behind us and embracing us in a yellow glow. I drug on my cigarette and rolled off my back, onto my side. Exhaling, I flicked the cigarette butt into the grass._

_"Are you having fun?"_

_She stopped short of taking a picture and looked at me._

_"Yeah, aren't you?"_

_I grinned._

_"I am. It's so peaceful out here. No one to tell us what to do, when to go home, to do homework."_

_She giggled and bent down to kiss me._

"7591, huh? That's it?"

I snapped back to my reality to see Carly sitting on the ground next to my grave in her pajamas. I figured she'd come here after that dream, but I didn't expect it to be so soon. She busied herself with playing in the grass while I walked toward her.

_"It's a rule, Carls. I can't tell you straight out. This is something you'll have to figure out. All I can do is give you clues."_

I watched her hair blowing in the wind. She titled her head up and sniffed the air, no doubt smelling the wonderful flowers around this place. It didn't bother me that no one brought me flowers; I didn't like them anyway.

"Oh, Sam."

Was she sober right now? Really? I was getting to see my Carly? I could tell her head was unclouded right now. She was thinking hard about something, about me maybe.

"Sam, you gotta help me out. I can't do this by myself."

_"I will, Cupcake. As much as I can."_

She got up and brushed off her pants, keys dangling in one hand and a palm full of grass in the other that she let fly out into the wind. She seemed to do it a lot, and it didn't hurt now that she was sober. Now that I knew it was just a desperate attempt to feel closer to me, and not an attempt to rip out and throw away all her problems and worries. I watched her walk back to the Jeep, waving at the groundskeeper before closing the door and hitting the ignition. I could see her digging into her backpack, pulling out pill bottle after pill bottle and taking pill after pill. It was depressing to watch her fuck up her life like that. I turned my back on her and laid down in the spot she had been sitting.

* * *

The following Friday

"A picture?"

I was surprised by her voice. It was the middle of the night and she was, once again, sober.

"I dreamt of this picture of you reading a book, and here I find it at your grave. What's going on?"

_"It would be much easier if I was really here. I could easily tell you that it's a diary. Diary was the hint."_

I'm not so good at this clue thing. If I persisted, I'd probably end up leading her further away.

"Well, you never read real books, so this must be a special occasion."

Or maybe she would catch on.

"I kinda wonder where I was when this picture was taken."

_"It was never taken. It doesn't exist. It's a figment of your imagination put there by unseen forces to guide you toward what you really want. Closure."_

She brought the photograph close to her face and examined it carefully.

"Sam, is this a diary?"

I nodded an invisible nod.

"You're…reading someone's diary. But what does that have to do with anything? And with 7591? There's no way that's a page number."

Now to figure out a way to tell her it was my mom's diary that she needed to be looking in.

* * *

"Please let me tell her it's the date. 7/5/91. It's the date of the journal entry she needs to read!"

"_No_."

A resounding voice blurted out from a white, cloaked figure.

"Come on!"

I pleaded and pleaded but nothing else was said to me. Suddenly, another cloaked figure appeared. This one was dressed entirely in black.

"I'll make a deal with you."

The voice was raw and unhealthy, like it'd had years of smoking in its lungs. It was deep, dark, and intimidating; something I'd never experienced before. Never had anyone, much less a voice, intimidated Sam Puckett.

"_I_ will give her the clues, and I can give you my word that they will lead her where she wants to go."

"But-"

"The only stipulation is that your soul belongs to me after the deed is done."

"My soul?"

"Your soul. Your very essence. Everything that makes you into Samantha Puckett. The good, the bad, and everything in between. Do you know who holds it as we speak?"

"That guy?"

I pointed behind me at the tall, white figure. He shook his head disappointingly.

"Carly Shay holds your soul. She holds onto it so very tightly, as if it would shatter if she releases even the slightest bit of pressure."

"So that means…"

"_I_ will be in possession of it after I give her the closure she so desires, and_ you _will belong to _me_."

"What do I have to do?"

"This is a bad idea!"

The being in white stepped toward us. I spun around and looked at him.

"_Why_? _You_ don't get to make this decision for me. You're not helping me at all. At least_ he'll _help me help Carly."

"So what do you say, Samantha Puckett? Do we have a deal?"

"Wait."

I stopped to think about it before acting impulsively, something I never did. But this was Carly we were talking about here; I had to consider all angles.

"What happens to Carly in all of this?"

"Nothing. Your soul will cease to exist on Earth, though. Carly will no longer be able to feel you. The two of you will no longer be connected because she won't possess your soul any longer."

"I don't know…"

"_But_, she will have her closure, and will be able to continue on with her life in a healthy manner. I gave you my word, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did."

He held his hand out to me and I saw it for the first time. It was only bone. No skin, no muscle, nothing, just bone.

"Do we have a deal?"

**Kinda creepy, huh? What was Sam thinking making a deal with the implied devil? She'll forever lose her connection with Carly and be confined to Hell for eternity. Find out what happens next on…**

**Just kidding.**

**But seriously, hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the wait, guys. I thank you for being patient. :) Here's chapter 7, hope it lives up to your expectations!**

"Whoah, whoah. I'm. not sure I can just make a decision like that. This is Carly we're talking about. It's not my place to-"

"Not your place to what? Influence how she feels? Change her outlook on life?"

The figure in black chuckled.

"I think you already took care of that the moment you took your own life."

I sighed and looked at the ground. The one who stood in darkness was right. I had already done enough damage to Carly by ending my life. Whether I knew it or not at the time, I took away a part of her life, her happiness. There was no way I was going to sever our only line of communication. Sure, I wanted her to have closure and be able to understand why I did what I did, but I was also still selfish enough to want to be able to see her every once in a while. It wasn't pleasant being tied to my body by an invisible rope, but at least it granted me the ability to see her and _kind of_ communicate with her. I knew it helped her as much as it helped me and I didn't want that to end.

I straightened up and stared straight into the black hole beneath his hood.

"No deal. It's not my place to decide whether or not she and I will cease to connect at my gravesite."

The white figure cleared his throat.

"You know that, if she is able to follow the clues you've already given her and finds what she is looking for, the connection that exists between the two of you may be ended on _her _accord. If she becomes complacent and accepts your death for what it is, and feels that she no longer needs that link between the two of you to stay open, your soul will be released from that plane and will be put to rest."

I sat quietly, taking in everything he was saying.

"You see, Samantha, that is why you're stuck where you are. You have unfinished business on Earth. You want so bad for the one person you loved the most to understand what happened to you; you want her to be able to come to terms with your death and continue on with her life."

"So, what you're saying is...whether I make this deal or not, there most likely will come a time when Carly and I will no longer be able to interract?"

"Yes, at some point in her life, she will move on. Not to say she'll ever forget you, because she won't, but she'll stop needing to rely on that feeling she gets when she comes to your grave every Sunday. She'll accept that you're gone and that there's nothing she can do about it. She'll start relying on the memories you two had together, and dreams that she has of you. There will come a time when that will be enough for her."

"And if I don't make this deal, I'll have more time with her?"

The dark, intimidating voice arose once again.

"You will have more time, but her suffering will last longer."

"Carly is strong, she's survived this long without me, and she's smart. She'll figure this out; I know she will. And while the reason behind why I took my life may be hard for her to swallow, I know she'll find peace."

I paused.

"I know who you two are, too."

I pointed to the white figure.

"I know you're the savior."

Gesturing towards the black cloaked figure with my eyes, I took a deep breath.

"And I know you're the devil. And I also know that if I make a deal with you, and you take hold of my soul, I will burn for the rest of eternity and there will be no chance of me ever seeing Carly again."

I turned towards the being in white again.

"And if I stick with you, I know Carly and I will be reunited again one day. I've heard that time passes differently where you guys are. Years on Earth feels like hours to you. I'd rather be waiting on her in a mansion of gold for a few hours than burn in the fires of Hell forever, being reminded every second of every minute that rolls by that we'll never see each other again."

I crossed my arms and let out a "hmph", facing the devil and putting on my best intimidation face.

"So, I've made up my mind. No deal."

I could almost hear the smirk on his face in his voice, taking pleasure in the fact that the person I loved the most would suffer a bit longer because I didn't take his offer.

"As you wish."

Suddenly, everything around me disappeared and I was back in the graveyard again. It was dark, not a single sound could be heard, save the chirping of nearby crickets hidden in the grass. I knew I had made the right decision. And something told me that I had one more clue to give Carly. This one I would have to think long and hard about, because it was the last chance I would get to lead her to my mother's diary. I sighed, burying my hands in the pockets of my raggedy jeans and looking up at the night sky.

* * *

**Carly's POV**

"Do you think we could get together and talk?"

"Of course, honey, anything you need. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, just have a few questions to ask you...about Sam. Is that okay?"

I heard her breath hitch on the other end of the line. She hesitated, making me realize it might still be too soon to discuss Sam.

"Sure...how's tomorrow afternoon? We can get coffee or something."

"That sounds great. Thank you, Ms. Puckett."

"You're welcome, Carly. See you soon."

* * *

"Does '7591' mean anything to you?"

"7591...I don't-I don't think so, no."

"And what about a diary? Did Sam have a diary? At first I thought 7591 might be a page number, but what normal book has that many pages?"

"Books weren't really Sam's thing...and I don't think she had a diary. At least, I didn't find one..."

I sighed.

"What makes you ask these questions? It seems kind of random."

"You'd think I was crazy if I told you."

I looked down, taking note that I was unconsciously wringing my hands together.

"But..."

When I looked back up, Ms. Puckett seemed concerned and anxious to hear what I had to say.

"I had a dream about her. I was running after her and she lead me to your house, into your room, actually. She handed me a piece of paper with the number "7591" on it. Then, a few nights later I had another dream about a picture of her reading a diary...the next day I found the picture sitting by her headstone. I was going to bring it to you, but I can't seem to find it now. It's like it just disappeared or something."

Sam's mother looked almost horrified as I spoke.

"I feel like someone's trying to tell me something...but I'm not quite sure what it is or what any of it means."

She sat there for a second, seemingly trying to process what I had just told her.

"Do you happen to remember what color the book in the picture was?"

"Brown...I think. Made of leather, maybe. I'm not exactly sure."

Her face twisted into a look of fear, complete terror.

"I-I have to go, Carly. I'm sorry. I hope you can figure everything out, and I'm sorry that I wasn't any help."

"Wha-"

She stood up abruptly and ran out of the coffee shop. My mouth fell slightly open, wondering what the hell had just happened. Why did the mention of a brown, leather book make her act that way? Did it jog some kind of memory with her? Or did she know something that she just wasn't telling me?

**Hope everyone enjoyed it! Please leave me some reviews! Thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8. With each chapter I write, I feel more accomplished. I love this story, and its prequel, Why. I think they're my most favorite out of everything I've ever written since I started 9 years ago. To be honest, I actually cried while writing this chapter. The rush of emotion was huge, as I imagined myself in Carly's place. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. I recommend (if you listen to music while you read) Christina Perri's "A Thousand Years" for the first part (before the page break) and The Album Leaf's "Summer Fog" for the second part (after the page break). I used those while writing.**

_"What cha readin', Cupcake?"_

_"The Stranger by Albert Camus."_

_She closed the book, leaving her thumb between the pages to keep her place. The cover was dark blue, a slightly distorted picture of a sillhouette of a man standing before a yellow sun in the bottom right corner with the author's name at the top and the title of the book curving in a half circle beneath that, both in black lettering._

_"Its my favorite."_

_"What's it about?"_

_"The main character's apathetic, so much that his own mother's death doesn't even affect him. He's typically detached from everything that is 'life', even though he goes through the motions anyway. He gets mixed up with the wrong people and ends up murdering a man. It takes all that for him to start caring again, but by then it's too late."_

_I let out a "Hmm." and arched my right eyebrow, indicating my interest._

_"It's a depressing story, but I like how Camus writes in short, choppy sentences to get the apathy across. He's my favorite author, with Jane Austen coming in a close second."_

_"So, do they catch him for killing the guy?"_

_She chuckled at my curiousity._

_"Yeah, he sits in jail while awaiting his trial."_

_I sat there waiting for her to continue. When she didn't, I went on with my questioning._

_"Well, what happens to him? Does he get life in prison?"_

_She laughed again._

_"If I tell you that, it'll ruin the book, silly."_

_I pouted._

_"Well...why'd he do it? Why'd he kill him?"_

_A wide grin accompanied her reponse._

_"You should just read it."_

_She offered me the book. I turned my nose up and scoffed at it._

_"Why would I want to read it when I have you to tell me about it?"_

_"Because. Reading is fun, you kind of get sucked into the world created by the author. Words convey more emotion and feeling than a scene in a movie ever could. You get to actually delve into the minds of the characters rather than just having to interpret facial expressions and the tone of a voice to understand what they're feeling. You usually can't hear a movie character's thoughts, but you can read all of them in a book."_

_She paused and looked at the piqued expression on my face._

_"If I were to start crying right now, you could physically see me crying, but you would have no idea what I was thinking about unless I told you. You would perceive sadness, despair, but there's no way you could know the real reason."_

_I nodded._

_"So, I hand you my diary that I had been reading, open to a page in my journal that describes how I felt the day my mother passed away; how I felt so alone, so helpless, so guilty for not being there like I should have. And suddenly you understand; you discover, through the power of my words, what was going on inside my head. Books open doorways to thoughts and feelings that simple filmography and even sometimes that speech cannot. Spoken words are rarely as detailed and heartfelt as written ones."_

_"Well...you make reading sound so exciting..."_

_"It is if you're into it. Some people just don't like to read, though; like I'm not into drawing or painting. Can't judge them for that."_

_"I guess I'm one of those people, then. The ones that don't care for reading. It's just never really interested me. Except for comic books, but those aren't really books, I guess..."_

_Carly giggled and pressed her lips to mine, letting the book fall to the bed and encompassing my face with her hands. They were warm, like sheets fresh out of the dryer on a cold winter day; so comforting._

_"That's why I love you, Sam. As bad ass as you try to be, I still know that geeky side of you exists and it's so cute."_

_She dropped her hands to mine and kissed me again, eyes so full of amour before hiding away behind pink eyelids._

* * *

"I talked to your mom today."

The sound of her voice ripped me from my memory and sent me crashing back into reality. Her comment made me uneasy for some reason, almost nervous. I could feel my whole body begin to subtly shake.

"She seemed weird. I asked her about the 7591 thing and the diary. I think it scared her or something. She left quickly, without saying much."

She sighed, as if to say, "I'm talking to thin air and will get no response. What's the point?"

"Is there something else I should know? Is there something _she_ knows that I don't? And, if so, why won't she tell me? Why didn't _you _tell me?"

I sighed, stepping towards her and brushing her arm with my hand. A warm breeze blew at that instant, gently rustling the ends of her hair. Carly looked up at the cloudless sky, searching for a message she knew she'd never find.

_"What you're feeling right now is hopelessness. Believe me, I'm familiar with it. But you have to hold on, Carls; please be patient. Everything will make sense soon enough."_

She closed her eyes and tilted her head down. In response, I stepped toward her and planted a kiss on her cheek. She smiled as a tear fell from her eye.

I wished at that moment that she was a character in a book and that the author would provide me with words that told me what she was thinking and feeling. I would read them. I never wanted to read something so bad in my life.

"I can feel you..."

Her breath caught.

"I'm sober and I can feel you, Sam."

She dropped to her knees and cupped her face with both hands, crying so hard her whole body tensed up.

"I miss you so much...I never imagined life without you, and now that it's happening...I just don't know what to do with myself. I never prepared myself for this."

_"How _could _you have? Why _should _you have?"_

"The drugs made me forget, being sober hurts, and trying to move on makes me..."

She hesitated, wiping the streams of tears from her face.

"It makes me want to die."

I swallowed hard at her last word and bent down to embrace her.

"I know accepting what is...is what I need to do, but it's also the _hardest_ thing I've ever had to do. Midterms, finals, the ACT..they can't hold a flame to this."

She chuckled in between sobs.

"Things that used to be important aren't anymore. Situations that were hard to deal with pale in comparison. Lost objects that were missed don't even matter now because I miss you more. I miss you the most..."

_"I miss you, too, Cupcake. More than you'll ever know. I think what you need right now is to let someone be there for you. Talk to them, let them know what you're going through. Let them in..."_

"I think what I need right now is to talk to someone."

I smiled.

"I've been keeping everyone out because I felt like there was no possible way they could understand what I was going through. But I wasn't the only one that lost you... Your mother, she lost one of her daughters, I can't fathom what that must be like, and Melanie lost her sister, she lost a connection that only twins have with each other. Even though you two didn't talk much, I know it was still there. Spencer, Freddie...they loved you like you were a part of their family, and in a way you were. I know it affected them, too. I guess I just wasn't around to see it."

She stood up, kissing her fingers and placing them on my name that was engraved on the headstone.

"I love you, Sam Puckett."

_"I love you, Carly Shay."_

She smiled, then turned around and walked back to the Jeep parked on the small road meandering through the cemetery.

I felt like I could write a book myself. With words so dear to my heart, telling everyone what a stupid choice I made, how badly I had hurt everyone that I loved, and that loved me. How my rash and careless actions didn't help anything at all. How it feels right at first, until the backlash hits and then everything starts crumbling down around you. It's like a Lidocaine injection or a spinal block. It takes the pain away for a little while, but it doesn't last forever. Inevitably, the pain comes back; it may be different, but it's still pain and it's still there and sometimes it's even worse than before...

**As always, thank you for reading. Your reviews drive me to keep writing, so let me know what you think.**

**Also, I'm thinking of revamping my website (wild-seven[dot]com) and making it a haven for all my writing and art. It's been years since I touched web design, so if anyone could recommend me a template/layout to use, that'd be awesome. HTML preferred. PM me or somethin'. Thanks guys!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9. The next chapter(s) might take a while to chuck out so, please be patient with me. In the mean time, I might work on Closet Humor a bit and/or start a new fic. I'm thinking of entering the Writer's Digest writing competition, so everyone wish me luck! Hope you enjoy!**

"I'm not really sure how to start..."

I sighed.

"Or what to say."

"Carly, I can't say I know what you're going through, because I don't. I don't know how this has affected you, but I want to understand. I want to be able to help you."

I looked down into my hands.

"Spencer, I'm sorry that I've been so...shut off. This whole thing has been so hard for me. Some days I wake up thinking everything's going to be okay, that _I'm_ going to be okay, that she'll be back some day from a long vacation or something. And others I wake up wishing that I hadn't."

He winced slightly at my words. The thought of him losing another person he loved wasn't easy to take. He tilted his head down and gritted his teeth, trying to bite back his emotions.

"Freddie says you two haven't spoken since it happened."

"No, we haven't really..."

"Why not?"

"I guess I've been shutting him, and everyone else, out. I think it's because I was too wrapped up in my own mourning; I didn't realize that everyone else was hurting, too. Big fault of mine, I guess."

"Everyone mourns in their own way, it's not a fault, just a fact. I put everything into my sculpturing."

He chuckled a bit.

"There's one I've been wanting to show you, actually. I made it in memory of Sam."

Spencer looked at me for a reaction and I smiled.

"And you'd be surprised at Freddie, I know I was."

He looked to his left and I followed his eyes to a picture on the refrigerator of the four of us: Spencer, Freddie, Sam, and me. I couldn't look at it for long; it hurt too much to remember old times. Times when she was here, when we were all happy together instead of separately sad.

"He has his own place now; moved out not too long after the funeral. I think Sam being gone affected him pretty bad, too. Ms. Benson says they don't talk much, either."

"Why did he move out?"

I could never picture Freddie not with his mother in the apartment across the hall. He was always such a "momma's boy", as Sam used to say, but I guess everyone has their breaking points. Maybe he could relate to my pain more than I thought. Her death sparked drastic personality changes in both of us.

"He was really upset and apparently his mother wasn't upset enough. I just remember hearing them yelling one afternoon then a door slamming; something about her not giving a shit about anyone but herself. I saw him board the elevator with some bags and he never came back. He's living over on Birchwood St., in the apartments not far from the old hardware store I used to buy supplies at."

"Ah..."

"You should go see him sometime. You both could use a friend now days."

"Maybe."

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and searched for Freddie's number, confirming to myself that I still had it.

"Would you show me that sculpture you were talking about earlier? The one you did for Sam..."

He smiled.

"Sure, kiddo, it's in the kitchen."

"Her favorite room."

We laughed.

* * *

I knocked on the door of apartment 1D. After a few seconds, there was shuffling at the door then it opened. There stood Freddie with a five o'clock shadow surrounding a halfhearted smile, wearing a t-shirt and jeans wth no shoes. He ran his hand through his already messy hair then leaned against the doorframe.

"Hey, Carly."

"Hey.."

"I was beginning to think I'd never see you again or something."

I chuckled.

'For a second there I thought you might not either..."

His smile dropped into a look of concern. He backed up and pulled the door open.

"C-come in."

I sauntered into the apartment. It was immaculately clean, computer stuff everywhere. Small, but roomy with an island between the kitchen and living room space that opened the place up.

"You want some coffee?"

"Uh, no...I'm fine. Thanks."

Freddie nodded, going to pour himself a cup then rejoining me in the living room.

"Make yourself comfortable."

I sat on the couch as he settled into a recliner to my right. After a few seconds of silence, we both spoke in unison.

"So, what brings you-"

"I was wondering if-"

We both let out a low laugh.

"You first."

I cleared my throat.

"I was hoping maybe you could help me with something..."

"Sure, anything. What's up?"

"I figured if anyone could understand what was going on, it'd be you. I'm too afraid to tell anyone else what's happening...because they'll think I've gone nuts."

He sat quiet, sipping his coffee.

"I don't know, maybe I am. Maybe everything's a figment of my imagination. It's not like I have any tangible proof, anyway..."

"Tell me...maybe I can help you."

I frowned a bit. He sat his cup down on the table beside him.

"If there's one thing I've learned from all of this, it's that human beings are designed to be dependent on one another. Not necessarily monitarily or physically, but mentally...emotionally. After Sam died, I realized that nothing is impossible...and if we don't ask for help when we really need it, everything can go awry and end very badly. Those who don't know how or don't have anyone to ask are forced to keep their problems bottled up and, eventually, the pressure gets too high and, well, you and I both know what can happen then. So, if you need help, I'm here. Just ask."

I swallowed hard, my eyes glazing over with tears.

"I need you to help me understand why this happened. I need you help me put the pieces together and figure out what happened to her."

He stood up and joined me on the couch.

"Carly...we may never understand why she did what she did. I've been racking my brain for the past month trying to rationalize the whole thing, but I can't."

"Well, here's where the 'me going nuts' part comes into play."

I looked up at him for a reaction; he seemed interested enough, so I continued.

"I've been having dreams about her, Freddie, and I can't get the idea that someone's trying to tell me something out of my head."

"It's normal to have dreams about someone when you miss them, that doesn't mean that there's a secret message hidden somewhere."

"In the first one, I was running after her and ended up at her house. Everything looked the same inside except her room. It was completely empty except for a picture of her when she was little. Then, I followed her to her mother's room and she handed me this folded up piece of paper."

I paused for a second, catching my breath.

"Did it have anything written on it?"

"'7591, this is all I could do', but I don't know what that means. A few seconds after I read it, I woke up."

"7591..."

"At first it was just a number...but then I had another dream a few nights later. I drempt of Sam reading some kind of book. And if you knew Sam, you knew reading was at the bottom of her to-do list. It wasn't a normal book, though. It was brown, leather bound; looked like some kind of journal or something. I never knew Sam to have one, and when I asked her mom, she said she never found one either."

"A journal...like a diary, then?"

"Yeah, and I thought maybe 7591 was like a page number or something, but what diary has _that_ many pages?"

"What if it's not a page number, but...journals, diaries are typically labeled by date, not page number. Could 7591 be a date? 7 being July, 5 being the fifth day, and 91 becoming 1991? July 5, 1991. Did that date hold any kind of signifcance with Sam?"

"I don't...I don't think so. Sam wasn't even born, then. She was born in '92."

"April, right?"

'Yeah."

Freddie stopped and thought for a second, I could see the wheels turning in his head. After a bit, I saw something click; his eyebrows untensed for a second then bent back down in thought. I waited for him to explain, but all he did was stand up abruptly.

"I think we need to go see Sam's mom. Your dream showed you her house for a reason, specifically Ms. Puckett's room. I don't think we should be looking for anything of Sam's, but maybe her mother's journal instead."

He moved to the door to slip his shoes on and grab a jacket from the coat rack.

"She did act weird the other day when I mentioned the book to her...she got really nervous and all of a sudden had to leave...but I didn't think _too_ much of it. I guess I just thought maybe it was still too soon to talk about Sam or something. But, now...I mean, what if she actually _is_ hiding something from me?"

"Let's go find out."

**I took a few reviews into consideration and decided to bring Spencer, and mainly Freddie, into the story. Hope you guys like where this is going. Let me know! Reviews feed my hunger!**


End file.
